Passion
by Gremblin
Summary: Some pictures say a thousand words. Others say a thousand and one.


His typically styled short brown hair hung down either side of his head as he stood over the canvas. It was propped up against some boxes left unopened from when he had moved in only weeks before, kept from falling over with short piles of books, dictionaries of different languages – English, French, Spanish, German, Japanese, and Russian to name only a few. The one big room that made up the majority of his apartment was covered by miscellaneous objects. The air in the remodeled factory was crisp and his breath clouded in front of his face. Clustered cans of paint formed a circle around him, the colours contained within the cans as varied as the rainbow itself was. The jeans and t-shirt he wore both held more paint splatters than their original colours of blue and white despite how many times they were washed.

He left the phone to ring as he stared at the thin pencil markings on the canvas. They were ideas for a picture that had been in his head for weeks, ideas that he had left to stew until he couldn't stand it any longer. A thick tipped paintbrush was clasped lengthwise in his teeth, yet have been dipped in paint. A thin tipped paintbrush dipped in black was held in either hand ready to be used. Fresh paint droppings fell ignored onto the cement floor and nearly missed their targets of his socked feet. His deep blue eyes shone with knowledge and brilliance, widening with glee as the images plaguing him resurfaced. The clearer they became the more his eyes widened. When his eyes finally refused to widen any further He jumped forward and both hands started flying over the canvas. His talent of being ambidextrous was put to full use as pictures were slowly made over the penciled ideas.

The left thin brush was exchanged for the thicker one, which was quickly dipped in a shade of blue and put to use beside the thin brush of black inhabiting his right hand. The sun rose high in the sky and many more drops of many more colours were added to his clothes and everything nearby. A streak of yellow paint wiped across his forehead, ignored and forgotten about. Finally he stepped back, finished. The previously blank canvas now held a beautiful scene of an elderly man feeding pigeons in the park not far away from where the man currently lived. He grinned wildly, it was his best yet in his own opinion. No one would know that he had made it, he would take a picture of it and sell it anonymously, even sign it under a false name he had created. He had been told he wouldn't prosper in the arts, wouldn't make it anywhere. That his thoughts were too 'technical', he 'wasn't emotional enough'. He had shown them. He was making his way through college on his paintings alone.

A laugh escaped his lips as he put the lids back onto his many cans of paint, placed his many brushes carefully into a mason jar filled with water. He had shown them. He was making it on his own, he was going to be _famous_.

Rodney McKay stalked through the halls of Atlantis. Anybody and everybody that was in the halls he turned down jumped out of his way before he even got near them. He was in one of his moods and no one wanted to risk him taking it out on them. Atlantis itself seemed to sense the scientist's volatile mood and opened her doors before Rodney without even a squeak. He appeared in the control room and swiftly went through it and into Elizabeth's office.

"Rodney, what can I do for you?" She asked calmly. Rodney threw the papers down on her desk, showing her that he was over-the-top angry at the moment, something that few people knew how to calm him down from. Fortunately Elizabeth was one of those people.

"Who the hell chose the new scientists?" Rodney demanded, planting both his hands on the edge of her desk opposite where she sat.

"I'm not sure, but I think it was someone at the SGC, Colonel Carter I believe." Elizabeth hoped that the mention of Carter would help calm Rodney down, it seemed to do anything but.

"It figures! She sends me the idiots that don't even know one and one makes two! Look at those papers. What do they look like to you?" Rodney paused for a moment, long enough for her to look at the papers for a moment and no longer. "No, don't tell me. I'll tell you what they are: A gigantic waste of everyone's time! They're absolute gibberish that has no meaning at all. I told a group of the new scientists that just came from earth to do one thing. They did everything _but_ that one thing, and everything that they did do didn't need to be done! I demand that they be sent back to Earth on the next trip back there on the Daedalus, and until then be locked in the deepest, darkest, and coldest room we can possibly find! They don't even deserve to have gotten out of grade school, let alone be given PhDs. What's that?" This was all said so quickly it took a moment for Elizabeth to notice that Rodney's wrath had been done away with temporarily by a painting recently sent to her by someone as a gift from Earth.

"Someone sent it to me. I rather like it, what d'you think, Rodney?" She asked, eager to keep the topic of conversation off whatever Rodney had come in to 'talk' to her about.

"It's... uh... it's nice." was the reply. "Who sent it?" It was less of a curious question and more of a demand for information. As long as he wasn't yelling, Elizabeth was happy.

"I'm not sure, it was anonymous. It's safe to say that it was someone with fairly good strings to pull, as it's just a little bigger than what a personal item is allowed to be." She said with a grin.

"yeah. Just a little." Rodney agreed, eyes moving carefully over the painting. It was of an old man feeding pigeons in a park. He took a step closer and gingerly touched the surface of the painted canvas with his fingers, the faintest traces of a grin playing at his lips.

"It's made by a man named Jeremy Smith. No one ever managed to find out what he looked like, but a few years ago he appeared in the art world, selling these amazing paintings. A few years later he just disappeared. I'm a big fan of his and this was always one of my favorite pieces. I never told anyone, though." Elizabeth said as she walked forward to stand next to Rodney.

"Wonder who sent it to you." He said softly, as if deep in thought, which he was indeed. He was wondering how it had finally managed to get back to him, finally found it's way home. For Rodney McKay had painted the canvas, had gone by the false name Jeremy Smith. He had thought it clever, the name having the same amount of letters as his actual name. He hadn't told anyone, though. Hadn't ever revealed his secret talent with a brush to a soul. He had sent this painting to the man that had first introduced Rodney to painting, as a sort of 'thank you'. He hadn't ever expected to see any of his paintings again. Hadn't expected to have a fan.

"Gotta wonder." Rodney said. With one final touch of the painting Rodney left, a long-forgotten desire filling him. Though, it would have to be left ignored for a month or two. He had to get supplies first.

Three months later another package 'arrived' for Elizabeth with the Daedalus, delivered by Rodney McKay. It was considerably smaller this time but just as anonymous as the first gift. Pulling back the plain brown paper wrapping the thin package, Elizabeth couldn't help but gasp at it's contents. Another painting and a letter. Though this painting was newer and unsigned, she knew it was made by the same person as the first painting sent to her.

_Elizabeth,_

_I heard from a reliable source that you were a big fan of mine during the brief time I was painting. Hearing that gave me the desire to paint again, maybe not for long but again nonetheless. I thought it right to send you the first, a thank you gift I guess you could say._

_Hope you like it and can find a place for it somewhere._

_-Jeremy_

On an unframed canvas a scene was painted. A man stood with his back to the viewer, a brush visible in each hand. His short brown hair was messy and uncombed, and his t-shirt and jeans were a mass of paint stains. A half-finished canvas was visible, recognizable to Elizabeth as a half-finished version of the man with his pigeons hanging on her office wall not far away. Paint cans were scattered around the man, books and boxes held the canvas he was painting in a standing position. A note was taped to the back of the canvas.

_-Thought you might like to see me at work. A rare view, guard it well. I don't let many see this outfit. (for obvious reasons)_

Elizabeth laughed and looked at her office wall. It might not fit in too well here, but she was definitely finding a place for it in her bedroom somewhere.

Meanwhile, Rodney McKay stood in a tower in a part of Atlantis that had yet to have it's sensors repaired. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans with a few paint stains on them. Before him stood an easel built by spare parts, holding up a canvas made with fabric sent to him by Jeannie.


End file.
